Looking at the BBC’s pictorial coverage of the event showing the great unwashed corralled in tightly-packed groups, my first thought (perhaps cruelly, though probably not inaccurately) was “Jesus, I bet that stank.” An entrepreneurial deodorant salesperson could have made a killing. Or perhaps the authorities could have taken the opportunity to set up some kind of makeshift sheep dip for the crusty masses on exit? Glastonbury would have certainly been a lot more fragrant.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Hippy Hum
It was the longest day of the year yesterday. English Heritage threw open the gates of Stonehenge once more to allow 36,000 people to hug the ancient stones, beat bongos, talk bollocks and drink Tesco Value cider at six o’clock in the morning, err… just like what the druids did in the olden days.
Looking at the BBC’s pictorial coverage of the event showing the great unwashed corralled in tightly-packed groups, my first thought (perhaps cruelly, though probably not inaccurately) was “Jesus, I bet that stank.” An entrepreneurial deodorant salesperson could have made a killing. Or perhaps the authorities could have taken the opportunity to set up some kind of makeshift sheep dip for the crusty masses on exit? Glastonbury would have certainly been a lot more fragrant.
Looking at the BBC’s pictorial coverage of the event showing the great unwashed corralled in tightly-packed groups, my first thought (perhaps cruelly, though probably not inaccurately) was “Jesus, I bet that stank.” An entrepreneurial deodorant salesperson could have made a killing. Or perhaps the authorities could have taken the opportunity to set up some kind of makeshift sheep dip for the crusty masses on exit? Glastonbury would have certainly been a lot more fragrant.
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